


Who Loves, Lives

by Thistlerose



Series: AU in which Wirenth and Pridith survive [3]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-24
Updated: 2011-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 22:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlerose/pseuds/Thistlerose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The evening after Wirenth's first mating flight (which, in this AU, did not end in death) F'lar confronts his rebellious younger brother.  Meanwhile, Kylara is torn by remorse and ambition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Loves, Lives

**Close to midnight, Benden Weyr**

"I believe Meron," said F'lar.

Lessa rose, strode around the council table to where he sat, and pressed her palm to his brow. "Oh," she said, sounding surprised. "You _are_ feverish. And you've been popping in and out of _between_ since—"

" _Lessa_ ," he began, then stopped. He felt ill, exhausted, and old – so much older than he'd felt just that morning. Lessa's small hand was cool against his skin. He wanted to keep her close, wanted, in fact, to declare this impossible, heartbreaking day over so he could crawl under his sleeping furs and just hold her in his arms. But there was one thing left to do.

_Mnementh? Where is F'nor?_

The bronze dragon replied, _At Fort Weyr. Canth says that he is talking to N'ton and P'zar._ There was a brief pause, and then Mnementh added, _I have told Canth that you want him and F'nor to return to the Weyr as soon as possible._

_There's no need, if he's busy at Fort—_

_You are tired. You are unwell._

Rather touched, but not altogether surprised by the bronze's initiative, F'lar glanced up at Lessa. Her lips were pursed in disapproval.

"Lessa," he said again, more gently.

"I know," she said. "I heard. Mnementh has more sense than you do, though neither of you…" She sighed. "I wish you'd let it wait, at least until the morning."

"Would _you_ let it wait?"

"Of course not," she replied at once, and the corners of her lips quirked upward into something that was not quite a smile. "In fact, I'd have had his hide long before now. That's why I'm feared and you're loved."

 _I love you_ , Ramoth and Mnementh said together.

"You don't count, my dears," said Lessa. "I can't frighten either of you."

"Do I count?" asked F'lar, too fatigued to keep the wistfulness out of his tone.

"You?" She eyed him critically for a moment. Then her look became tender and she brushed the errant forelock from his brow. "There's another reason I wish you'd let this matter wait until the morning; I don't want you coming to bed angry."

"I'm not angry with F'nor. Only…exasperated. I wish he'd informed me of his intentions. I wish he hadn't complicated things."

"And what if he hadn't?" said Lessa. "If Canth hadn't been there, from what we're told, there's a good chance Wirenth and Pridith would have fought. One or both might have died, and then where would we be? Kylara I could stand to lose," she went on, her lips twisting in distaste. "But – not in such a way. I'm not _that_ cruel. And yet… You believe Meron. You really think _Kylara_ killed T'bor."

"I do," said F'lar. "And my reasoning is this: Meron's not a fool." He ignored Lessa's contemptuous snort. "He has many poor qualities, I agree, but foolishness is not one. You know that. The man thrived under Fax's rule; he knows how to protect himself and his interests. Had Meron murdered T'bor—" It took an effort to say the name. As a rule, F'lar called few men friend; T'bor had not been one, but he'd been a staunch ally, first against old R'gul, then against the Oldtimers. " _Had_ Meron murdered T'bor, he'd have admitted it at once, and insisted that it had been in self-defense. It's believable. _I'd_ have believed it. T'bor was hotheaded, and he had good reason to detest Meron. The man was Kylara's lover. And for reasons I'll never understand, T'bor was besotted with Kylara. Betunth's rider—"

"S'goral."

"S'goral, yes. He's certain T'bor found Meron and Kylara in bed together."

"I know," said Lessa tartly. "I was there when S'goral—"

"Lessa." He took her hand and held it against his cheek. "I'm repeating this for _my_ benefit. I'm trying to think." He closed his eyes, leaned his head against her hand. "It pains me to say so, but I _can_ see T'bor drawing on Meron. I can see it more easily than I can see Kylara grabbing Meron's knife and throwing it. And it explains her disappearance. If it had been Meron's hand on the knife, she would be here now, proclaiming her innocence."

"That woman was _never_ innocent."

"Hmm. Perhaps not. But did you hear me when I said I'll never understand T'bor's reasons for—"

"I heard. And if you come to bed _now_ , you might find—"

She was interrupted by Canth's bugle of greeting to Mnementh. The bronze responded in kind, adding unnecessarily to his rider, _F'nor is here._

"As long as you're lecturing him," said Lessa dryly, "you might touch on his lamentable timing. _Briefly_." She freed her hand. F'lar was tempted to make a grab for her, to prove that he was not as weak as she thought, but F'nor entered the council chamber just then.

"Fort Weyr sends regards. No sign of Kylara," he reported, loosening his riding gear. "N'ton and I were just at Tillek, and before that, Southern Boll. I think we can be fairly certain that no Northern Hold or Weyr is sheltering her. Which leaves…still a great deal of Pern. And if she takes it into her head to go _between_ times—"

"She hasn't," said Lessa. "Or, if she has, she hasn't gone so far back or forward that Ramoth isn't at least aware of Pridith."

"And Pridith would never betray her rider's whereabouts," F'nor surmised glumly.

"Unfortunately, no," said Lessa. "The dragon, at least, has some sense of duty. Now, I would like to visit Ramoth before I retire. Would Canth be so kind as to convey me to the Hatching Grounds?"

She spoke sweetly, but F'lar was not fooled. Judging by the way his eyebrows rose, neither was F'nor. But he was not about to oppose Lessa.

 _I would take her,_ Mnementh said, sounding slightly aggrieved.

 _Let it go_ , F'lar advised. _She and Ramoth want to talk to Canth. She still prefers you. Believe me._

Mnementh rumbled, but seemed mollified.

Lessa left the council chamber with Canth and F'nor slumped into a chair opposite F'lar's. Though obviously tired, his jaw was set and his shoulders straight. He knew, or thought he knew why his Weyrleader had summoned him so late at night, why the Weyrwoman was monopolizing his dragon when she could easily have called her own. He'd come prepared to fight. Easygoing F'nor.

"This is about Canth flying Wirenth." It was very much a statement, not a question.

"It is," said F'lar. He would have gone on, but F'nor interrupted.

"Just because something's never been done doesn't mean it never _can_ be done. Or never should be. Shells, isn't that what we're always telling the Oldtimers?"

"It's what I kept hoping T'ron would figure out," F'lar agreed. "But you've missed the point, brown rider." He drew a deep, steadying breath and tried for a moment to recall the last time he'd had cause to reprimand F'nor. They'd been mere weyrlings, he thought. And what had it been about? He couldn't remember. "The point," he said, "is that Wirenth's mating flight had not been declared open. No Benden dragon, bronze or brown, had any business participating." He almost added, _You're lucky something else happened to distract the remaining Oldtimers_ , but stopped himself.

F'nor flushed; he _had_ misjudged. But then his gaze hardened and he said, "There wasn't time to declare it open. Things were going on, too much too quickly. First your fight with T'ron, then the Southern dragons moving to High Reaches. Just this morning, you told the other Weyrleaders to throw the mating flights open."

"That was, as you say, _just_ this morning. D'ram, G'narish, and P'zar agreed, but I'd meant to give them a _little_ time to get used to the idea."

"But there wasn't time for us. We knew Wirenth was close to rising, but when she actually did – it was sooner than we'd thought. And Brekke… The thought of Wirenth rising had her tied up in knots. On top of everything else. You know Brekke. She has to see to everyone else's needs before her own."

"I don't know Brekke," said F'lar. "And neither, I should think, do you. Unless time passes more slowly on the Southern Continent. How long were you there, convalescing? A week?"

"How long did you know Lessa, before you knew you wanted her for your mate?" F'nor countered.

F'lar was becoming angry. He'd expected contrition, not belligerence. "That was different. We needed a strong Weyrwoman, and I needed to be Weyrleader. If there'd been a hag under all that grime, it would hardly have mattered. Though I was exceedingly relieved," he added, the fondness of the memory causing some of his anger to abate, "that she cleaned up pretty."

"I do know Brekke," said F'nor earnestly, leaning toward his half-brother. "She wouldn't have asked T'bor to throw the flight open, even if there _had_ been time. It wasn't that she was unhappy with the bronzes in her own Weyr. She wanted _me._ And Wirenth wanted Canth."

"A queen in heat—"

"Wirenth was amenable to the idea," F'nor amended quickly. "She understood that no insult was intended. Canth's as big as most of the modern bronzes. He could out fly any Oldtimer bronze."

Now F'lar remembered what their last argument had been about, all those years ago. F'nor had wanted Canth to train with the bronzes, not the browns, insisting that his dragon had the strength and stamina to keep up. He'd wanted F'lar to support him when he pleaded his case to the weyrlingmaster, and F'lar had refused. Brown flew with brown, and bronze with bronze. That was the tradition, and like all Pernese traditions, it existed for a reason. Also, F'lar had always suspected, F'nor had wanted to stay close to his older half-brother. F'nor had been quite young at the time. They'd both been.

"Even so," F'lar said, modulating his tone carefully, "while I'm sure Canth saw in Wirenth a more desirable mate than the greens he's accustomed to…what, truly, was at stake? A weyrwoman isn't bound body and soul to the man whose bronze flies her queen. You say Brekke wasn't unhappy with the other bronze riders—"

"She wasn't unhappy," said F'nor, "but she didn't want any of them, all the same. Brekke isn't weyrbred. She doesn't share our…"

"Loose morals?" F'lar suggested with a wry smile, his first since Lessa had left the chamber.

F'nor put his hands, palms down, on the table, and looked his half-brother in the eye. "I was Brekke's first." His voice was low, almost solemn. "I wanted to be her only. Not out of pride. I didn't like the idea of her sharing another man's bed, but it's not because I'm possessive. It's not even because of Canth. _She_ didn't want any other man. Not even once. It's due – in part, at least – to her upbringing. But I like to think that it's also due to me. If she hadn't minded… But she did mind. And I wanted what she wanted. It wasn't my intention to insult the High Reaches bronzes. I meant to tell you. In all honesty, I did. Something always came up. There wasn't time. There _really_ wasn't. Canth had to go _between_ times to reach the mating flight in time. Can you imagine what might have happened if he hadn't? If Pridith had gotten there first? Canth stopped Wirenth from attacking her."

"I know," F'lar said. Now he wished he'd listened to Lessa and postponed this confrontation. The weariness and the chill were creeping back into him. Maintaining his rigid posture took effort; his hands clenched the armrests of his chair. "I actually suggested to the other Weyrleaders that Canth went to High Reaches to protect Wirenth, not fly her. That Brekke called to Canth and not some other dragon because you'd formed an attachment. They seemed to believe me, but they demanded I take disciplinary actions, even so."

F'nor opened his mouth again, but F'lar shook his head warningly. "Once more, all of Pern looks to Benden Weyr for leadership. I told the other Weyrleaders to throw mating flights open. I didn't mean that they had to start this very day. These men, whether they're right or not, need to be treated with respect. We owe them at least that much. Do you understand?"

In the glow light, F'nor's eyes flickered and his jaw twitched.

 _Canth is agitated,_ Mnementh informed his rider. Unhelpfully.

_Is Lessa antagonizing him?_

_No,_ the bronze replied. _But_ you _are upsetting his rider. He misses Wirenth. He would be more vocal, but he does not want to upset Ramoth. She has an intimidating glare._

F'nor said tightly, "What disciplinary actions are you going to take, Weyrleader?"

F'lar disliked his tone, but chose to ignore it. "I hadn't decided. I've been occupied with other matters, as I'm sure you're aware. This is the third time in barely a week that one dragonrider has attacked another. And it's the first fatality. The Weyrs are demoralized and the Lord Holders wonder if we've the stability to defend them against Thread. A trial for Meron must be convened. They're demanding one for Kylara."

"'One dragonrider has attacked another,'" F'nor repeated. "Then you think Kylara killed T'bor, not Meron?"

"I do," said F'lar. It was time to put an end to this meeting, he decided. Time to call Lessa back from the Hatching Grounds and go to bed. He'd feel better in the morning. He'd be able to deal with all of this then.

"Transfer me," F'nor said.

"What?"

"To High Reaches. At least until the next queen rises to mate and a new Weyrleader is chosen. Let that be my punishment."

"Out of the question," F'lar said, not even pausing to consider the suggestion. "I need you here."

"You didn't have me the week I was convalescing at Southern, and you survived," F'nor retorted.

"T'ron _stabbed_ me," F'lar reminded him.

"You _survived._ You didn't have me while I was ten turns back in time."

His anger mounting again, F'lar said, "It was only a few days for me, and those were desperate days. If I'd trusted any other rider as I trust you—"

"Canth flew Wirenth. They're mated. They belong together, in the same Weyr. I can't spend all my life in your shadow."

The words slipped out of him much too quickly: "I thought that was what you wanted."

F'nor shoved his chair back with a loud scrape and was on his feet, striding toward the council chamber's entrance, his fists clenched at his sides.

Struck with remorse, worried that Canth might respond to his rider's ire, despite Ramoth's quelling presence, and rouse the sleeping Weyr, F'lar tried to rise, found he hadn't the strength. "F'nor," he called weakly. _Mnementh, make him stay._

 _You make him stay_.

The bronze's retort startled F'lar, though it wasn't the first time Mnementh had balked at one of his orders. F'lar was biased, of course, but he'd always suspected Mnementh of being among the more intelligent of his kind and, as such, more likely than other dragons to contradict his rider. It was a matter of pride, in fact, but at the moment, F'lar did not need this.

_You're siding with him?_

Mnementh replied patiently, as if F'lar were some sort of dimglow, _I am not siding. I am saying. Canth is upset. Canth is my brother._

 _Really?_ While Mnementh often exhibited a sort of fatherly pride in the dragonets that he and Ramoth produced, he'd never said anything like _that_ before.

_We are from the same clutch. Canth is my brother. F'nor is yours. He is starting down the steps. In the dark._

"My own dragon is giving me a guilt trip." Defeated, F'lar shook his head and called after his brother.

F'nor could not have gotten far, for he was back within moments, his gaze hard, his arms crossed.

"I need you," F'lar said. "I rely on you. I'm sorry for what I said. I'll take your request into consideration. I'll let you know what I decide – tomorrow."

"Fine. That's fine." F'nor relaxed his posture. He was rarely angry, and never for long. Then, "I'm still going to spend the night at High Reaches. Brekke needs me. And I – would like to be with her."

F'lar did not reply. _Mnementh, tell Lessa we're done here, and she can stop monopolizing Canth._

At the same time F'nor said, "Your Weyrwoman still has my dragon. Until they're back…have you got any wine?"

F'lar laughed and regretted it at once; the slash T'ron's knife had given him was beginning to sting again. He needed more numbweed. He needed Lessa and her gentle hands. He needed _sleep._

 

**After midnight, Benden Weyr**

Lessa covered the basket of glows, and then climbed under the sleeping furs. She wriggled close to F'lar, who wrapped an arm about her shoulders and pulled her close against his side – his uninjured side. His skin was still hot to the touch, but she told herself that there was little cause for concern. He was very strong. Besides, he'd had a glass of wine and she'd surreptitiously packed his wound with mosstea while changing the bandages. He would sleep long and hard, which was what he needed.

"You should've stayed," F'lar murmured. "You wouldn't have let me punish F'nor by giving him exactly what he wanted. When he comes back, I'm going to assign him the worst patrols. Maybe I'll assign him to old Lord Raid for a week. A month. He'll wish he'd never clapped eyes on that girl."

"We'll think of something suitably horrid. In the morning."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "This is our fault."

She knew somehow that he wasn't talking about F'nor and Brekke. Lessa closed her eyes and held back a sigh. She'd spent all evening hoping he'd not reach that conclusion, as she had.

"Kylara should never have been allowed to set foot on the Hatching Grounds."

"Kylara should never have been allowed to reach womanhood," Lessa said viciously. "But there's no sense in talking like this, and you know it. Much as it galls me, Kylara was found on Search. She had every right to stand on the Hatching Ground."

"We needn't have cultivated her to believe—"

"You thought she had strength of character. We both thought T'bor had her well in hand." Lessa regretted mentioning the dead Weyrleader of High Reaches. F'lar would not say it, but she knew that he grieved. "Anyway," she went on quickly, "Pridith chose her. The dragon always knows." But there was no conviction in her tone.

"I wonder," F'lar said softy.

"What?"

"I wonder…what Pridith thinks of her rider now. Who knows how attached she was to Orth? Mnementh chided me when he thought I was being unkind to F'nor. Kylara's a coldhearted bitch. But her dragon is innocent, and I wonder…"

His voice was becoming fainter, his breaths more even; the mosstea was taking effect.

"If only we could get…Pridith…alone…"

"And then what, my love?" Lessa asked. She waited, but no answer followed, and she knew that he slept. She leaned up to kiss his cheek, then settled herself beside him again and closed her eyes.

 _Only death can separate a dragon from her rider_ , said Ramoth. And that, for the moment, was the final word on the matter.

 

**Evening at High Reaches Weyr (same day)**

 

Canth came out of _between_ above High Reaches Weyr. High Reaches was a few hours behind Benden, and the first of Pern's moon had only just risen, turning to shimmering silver the snow that clung to the mountain peaks surrounding the weyr. The sky was cloudless, the stars brilliant. F'nor paused to admire the view and to wonder at the evening's calm; it seemed odd after such a hectic, maddening day. Though it had begun calmly enough, with him bringing a clutch of fire-lizard eggs and a pot of Thread-eating grubs to F'lar. Had that _really_ happened only that morning?

 _Yes,_ Canth said. _But then we were at High Reaches. It has been a long day. I want to sleep._

"Curled up beside Wirenth, eh?"

 _Yes. I have announced us to the watch rider. Brekke is in her weyr. Wirenth says that she is in bed, but she is not asleep. The little ones are with her._ He showed F'nor a picture – obtained from Wirenth – of Brekke in bed, with furs piled atop her slender body. One hand was curled beneath her cheek, her eyes were closed, and she had a sleeping fire-lizard on either shoulder.

"She's not sleeping?"

_Wirenth says no, but almost. She is waiting for you._

"Then we'd better get down there quickly, my friend."

They landed moments later. F'nor left Canth on the weyr ledge, his neck twined with Wirenth's. He stripped as he made his way down the corridor, which was lit only by sputtering glows, and was half-naked by the time he reached Brekke's bed.

She hadn't moved since Wirenth had sent that image to Canth, but F'nor sensed a wakefulness about her. He bent over her, trying not to jounce the bed, combed her dark curls away from her cheek, and kissed her there.

Careful as he was, he roused the fire-lizards, who fluttered their wings indignantly and glared at him, their tiny eyes swirling gold. "Oh, be gone, you pests," he said. "You're in my spot."

Brekke smiled without opening her eyes. "You're not a big man, love, but I doubt you'd fit. What?" she asked, turning toward him and further agitating Berd and Grall. "What's so funny?"

"Brekke," F'nor chuckled, fingering a lock of her disheveled hair. "Casting aspersions on my manhood already?"

"I didn't—oh." She flushed, bit her lip. "I didn't _mean_ \--"

"Brekke." He tipped her chin up and kissed her frowning mouth. "You may be Weyrwoman now, but in some ways you haven't changed. And I'm glad."

"Speaking of change, you came from Benden Weyr, didn't you?"

"Yes." He pushed back the furs and got into bed beside her. "F'lar and I fought." He kissed her to forestall an interruption. "It's all right. At least, I think it will be. With us, anyway. Being together." He smiled wryly and traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip. "F'lar and Lessa were surprised to learn they're not the only ones capable of changing the planet before breakfast. I'm to be punished for my impudent behavior, of course."

"Why? You didn't break any rules. I told you to come!"

"I made a mess of F'lar's plans. A small mess. It'll be all right. And what's the worst thing he can do? Keep me from you?"

"Not if our dragons have anything to say about it."

"Just so. I asked for a transfer to High Reaches, at least until there's a new Weyrleader. I'll get it too. F'lar may not like it, but—" He shrugged. "After that, I don't know. Maybe I'll stay here. Maybe we'll both transfer to Benden. Ramoth might be persuaded to accept another queen – if we can convince her that Wirenth isn't interested in her bronzes."

"I thought Ramoth wasn't interested in any bronze but Mnementh?"

"She isn't, but she likes making Mnementh stretch his wings."

He'd sought to elicit another smile, but her face remained serious. "I don't want any dragon but Canth flying Wirenth. Not ever."

F'nor felt the shudder that passed through Brekke's slender limbs. He remembered the way she'd wept that morning, and of the nightmare that had yanked her from sleep. As he'd done earlier, he pulled her close against him and stroked her hair. "Not ever," he promised.

 

****

 

**One month later, Southern Continent**

 

Thella rode southeast along the inlet. To her left, the sun had just risen over the lush foliage, washing from view the Red Star and the Dawn Sisters. Though it was very early, Thella had been awake for hours, hunting wherries. She'd killed two and was bringing them back to her half-sister's so-called weyr. She did it for pleasure and to maintain her skill with a knife; T'kul of Southern Weyr regularly supplied them with food and other necessities.

And received his payment in Kylara's bed. He'd haven taken it happily in Thella's as well, but she'd threatened to cut his genitals off if he so much as laid a hand on her. She'd meant it. She had no liking for the lecherous old dragonrider and doubted that Kylara did. But Kylara spoke not one word of protest. Like any dutiful little holder woman, she simply spread her legs for the man who kept her fed and clothed.

It made Thella sick, but she didn't know how to break Kylara's torpor. She couldn't even figure out the cause. It couldn't be guilt. _Shouldn't_ be, in Thella's opinion. True, Kylara often acted without thinking, but Thella didn't doubt that the Weyrleader had had it coming. Missing Lord Meron? Perhaps. No doubt the Nabolese had more skill as a lover than T'kul. But no, that was silly. No man alive could inspire such despondency in a woman with sense. And Thella had to believe that her half-sister had at least a _little_ sense, or she'd not be a weyrwoman.

The pregnancy, then? Possibly. Kylara had given birth to five brats, and – she'd intimated often enough – had no interest in a sixth. But when Thella offered to procure the herbs that any holder woman with half a brain kept on hand, Kylara balked. What she meant to do with the brat when it arrived, Thella could not imagine. There wasn't a single maternal bone in Kylara's body. Why endure nine months of discomfort only to have to babe fostered? And _where_? If they were near civilization… But they weren't!

The dragon knew what was going on in her rider's head. But the dragon never spoke to Thella – not that Thella wanted or had ever wanted another living creature to touch her mind with its. The dragon only ate, swam, and slept in hot sands, as sluggish as her rider, except when Threads fell over their bit of land. Then and only then did they rouse themselves. Armed with a flame thrower – also provided by T'kul – Pridith and Kylara rose to battle their mutual foe while Thella and the few men and women they'd attracted over the past few weeks seared the clumps they missed. Fortunately, Threadfall seemed lighter and less frequent here in the south.

So Thella ruminated as she rode. Deep in thought, she nearly missed the sudden appearance of the bronze dragon in the sky above the weyr, still far ahead. _T'kul_ , she thought with a disdainful snort. Had the man simply awoken with an erection? It wasn't even dawn at Southern Weyr! Well, he'd better have brought good leather along with his ardor; Thella needed a new belt.

Then Pridith's bellowed challenge rang across the sky and Thella's runner reared up in alarm. Thella clutched at the reins and hissed an admonition. Not T'kul and Salth, then? A rider from the North? No, she told herself. An enemy would not come by day, and he would not come alone. Another Southern rider, then. A friend of T'kul's? Was it a weyr Kylara had founded, or a brothel?

Incensed on her sister's behalf, Thella spurred her mount onward. She was still some dragonlengths from the weyr when she spotted the girl with the fire-lizards.

 

**Kylara's weyr, early morning**

She had the dream again. Pridith went away, leaving her alone in the cold and dark. Soundless screams tore her throat. Tears froze on her lashes. There was no ground beneath her feet, no walls for her flailing hands to touch. She'd been taken _between_ and left there. By Pridith, who was supposed to love her and protect her no matter what.

 _I deserve this,_ said the part of her that submitted meekly to T'kul, that refused Thella's herbs.

Another part of her, one that nowadays spoke only while she dreamed, retorted, _But I don't have to like it!_

(There was a third part of her, a part of which she was unaware, a part that belonged wholly to Pridith. _That_ part of her lived for the dragon's love, grieved sincerely for the pain she'd caused the dragon, and was keeping the baby because that was what the dragon wanted.)

Kylara woke abruptly, aware of Pridith's agitation. On the ledge above the cliffside cave that served as weyr, the queen was trumpeting a challenge. The answering bellow was not threatening, Kylara thought, and not Salth's.

_Pridith? Who comes?_

_It is Fidranth. His rider wants to talk to you._

T'ron? What could the former Weyrleader of Fort possibly want from her? The same thing T'kul wanted? No, she thought. T'kul used her because she'd been T'bor's weyrmate, and T'kul had hated T'bor for taking his place as High Reaches Weyrleader. T'ron was different. If T'ron hated anyone it was the Benden Weyrleaders – who could have no love for Kylara.

Feeling the flicker of interest for the first time in weeks, she pushed her furs aside and sat up.

 _Pridith, let him land. Tell T'ron he can come down here, and share your ledge with Fidranth._ Sensing the queen's reluctance, she added firmly, _Be nice to him._

_Fidranth is not my mate._

Kylara rolled her eyes. Dragons were supposed to think only of the here and now; this petulance over Orth was annoying. _Not at present, dearest. At present, he is our guest._

She rose and began unbraiding her hair. There was no time to brush it, but that was all right; disheveled could be attractive, so long as it did not become slovenly. She was just knotting the sash that held closed her sleeveless blue robe when T'ron pushed aside the curtain that separated her sleeping area from the rest of the weyr. Quickly, she uncovered a basket of glows.

The sudden light did not reveal a flattering picture. T'ron had aged considerably in the month since Kylara had last seen him, at the wedding of her other half-sister, Famira, to Lord Asgenar of Lemos. During which he'd been knifed in a duel with F'lar of Benden. T'ron had lost weight and gained wrinkles and gray hairs. Worse, he had about him an aura of defeat that repulsed Kylara.

Nonetheless, she heard herself say, "And what brings you here? And how did you even know?"

"Wine," T'ron answered, "loosened T'kul's tongue. I wondered where he and Salth went and why he always came back looking so smug. I also wondered why, for the past month, he insisted on responsibility for this section of the continent during Threadfall. As to what brings me here…" He shrugged. "I suppose it's to thank you. For being a thorn in Benden's side. Though ordinarily I don't approve of weyrfolk attacking each other with knives." At her incredulous snort he added, " _I_ was acting for the good of Pern. For all weyrfolk."

"And I was not? T'bor was a fool. And ineffectual."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, for one thing, he couldn't control _me._ "

"My dear Weyrwoman," said T'ron mockingly, "I doubt very much that any man could."

Aware of Pridith's disapproving grumble, Kylara only thought, _F'lar of Benden might have, had he tried!_

"You also caused quite a stir among the Lord Holders," T'ron continued, taking a step toward her. "I assume you heard about Meron's trial. A shame he was acquitted, though hardly a surprise. Why would holderfolk blame one of their own when they can blame dragonmen? Or dragonwomen. You know that they're looking for you, Benden and the rest. I understand they're preoccupied with Threads and dissident Lord Holders, but they'll keep looking for you. And they'll find you, even though you've done a fair job of concealing your whereabouts. T'kul tells me your sister is good at concealment. Where is she?"

"How should I know?" Kylara said, beginning to think that she'd misjudged T'ron. He was no better than T'kul. "What do you want?"

"To offer my support," he replied evenly. "To offer you refuge at Southern Weyr."

"This is my weyr," Kylara said.

"This is a hole in the ground. Be sensible, woman. Have a care, if not for yourself, then for your dragon."

Kylara tipped her head thoughtfully. "T'kul told you everything, did he? I suppose he told you that Pridith is due to clutch. No, don't pretend to be surprised. I'm not as foolish as some, and neither are you. You want the eggs because – because your Oldtime queens have none of their own and aren't likely to produce any ever again. Loranth's a dried up old cow, just like Mardra. That's it, isn't it? Your queens are no better than greens now, while mine is young and fertile. You want Pridith to rejuvenate your aging Weyr! And you want Fidranth to fly her the next time she rises. Any authority you once had, you lost to F'lar and T'kul. And you want it back!"

T'ron's teeth clenched. She was sure that he wanted to hit her. Well, let him try. She'd hit him right back. She was younger and faster. And there was a knife under the glow basket; she always had a knife close by nowadays. Pridith and Fidranth trumpeted in alarm.

"Fidranth says that a woman is approaching on a runnerbeast," said T'ron.

"That's Thella." _Now, old man, you'll wish you hadn't come here!_

"Fidranth says she's not alone. There's a girl with her."

"Pridith?"

_Your sister comes with a girl. I do not know her._

There was an uncertainty in the queen's tone that puzzled Kylara. "Are you sure?"

_I have never seen her, but— She is strange._

Kylara pushed past T'ron. He followed her out of the weyr, up the crude steps that she and her folk had cut into the cliff face, to the stony ledge where Pridith and Fidranth waited. The four of them watched Thella's approach.

As they drew closer, Kylara peered at the girl who clung to Thella's belt. There was nothing unusual about her – apart from the two fire-lizards, a brown and a blue, that clung to her shoulders. Kylara felt a stab of envy; her own miniature queen had never returned to her. Though perhaps it was just as well; fire-lizards were little better than ornaments.

 _I liked our little sister,_ said Pridith. _She was pretty._

"That's just what I meant, darling. Look, that girl is perfectly normal. You're such a silly thing sometimes. I don't know what you were thinking. After we question her, T'ron, you're welcome to—"

She stopped mid-sentence. Thella reined in and dismounted. The girl slid down after, landing lightly on the hard earth. Kylara frowned. The girl was probably fifteen or sixteen Turns. Dark blond hair framed a pretty, unfamiliar face.

No, that was not entirely true. There was something familiar about the dark eyes, which met hers with startling frankness. Kylara clapped a hand to her mouth. Then, without knowing why, she let the hand drift slowly down to her belly, which was only just beginning to soften.

"I found this girl walking along the river," Thella said. "She told me she was looking for _you._ She wouldn't say where she came from or who sent her. She only gave me her name when I threatened to cut her throat." Thella's smile revealed her sharp white teeth. "It's Mebora. What does _that_ mean to _you_ , sister-dear?"

Pridith uttered small trill of bemusement, but Kylara spoke not a word as the girl Mebora started toward her. She stopped a few feet away, cocked her head, and smiled thoughtfully. "T'ron," she said. "It's good to see you and Fidranth again."

T'ron grunted. "Young woman—"

She ignored him, addressing Kylara. "It's you." She jerked a shoulder at Thella, who was fingering her knife. "When she came upon me, I thought— But they always told me that my mother had blue eyes. You're as beautiful as they said." She pointed at Kylara's belly. "And I'm really in there, right now? They told me not to go too close. But I suppose I'm still too small to make a difference. Hello, Pridith." She tilted her head back to better view the dragon. "In two months, I'm to Impress the queen you're carrying. So my mother promised."

There was wonder in the dark eyes, and something more. A worshipfulness that encompassed both dragon and rider. Kylara had never seen that before, even in the eyes of her most ardent lover. This girl was hers, to be taught, to be molded into the perfect weyrwoman, subservient only to Kylara and her own dragon's needs.

As Pridith rumbled encouragement, Kylara favored Mebora with the smile that had charmed so many, and extended her hand.

2/28/2009


End file.
